


Dear Life (What's Your Plan?)

by Firalla11



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Chicago Blackhawks, Legacies, M/M, New York Islanders, Soulmates, Time Travel, Woke Up Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-17 22:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13086819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firalla11/pseuds/Firalla11
Summary: They’re called Legacies, the abilities that are passed down through families, grandparent to parent to child. They’re little things, most often. Small, specific talents – a particular affinity for card games, or a steadier hand in the kitchen than most – but sometimes? Sometimes Legacies are big things.Sometimes Legacies are a little like magic.





	Dear Life (What's Your Plan?)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stonesnuggler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonesnuggler/gifts).



> Happy hockey holidays, stonesnuggler! You talked about wanting something set in the future, with magic, and my brain took those points and ran with them. Fair warning: this fic is so sweet it's going to give you cavities. Enjoy! <3
> 
> Title from High Valley's "[Dear Life](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIlgKuHFePA)."

They’re called Legacies, the abilities that are passed down through families, grandparent to parent to child. They’re little things, most often. Small, specific talents – a particular affinity for card games, or a steadier hand in the kitchen than most – but sometimes? Sometimes Legacies are big things.

Sometimes Legacies are a little like magic.

–––––

Nick wakes up.

Nick wakes up with an arm around his waist and the warmth of a body at his back and he should be panicking, he thinks, because he _knows_ he went to bed alone. Today was too important not to get all the rest he could. Today they’re playing for the Cup.

He _should_ be panicking, waking up with someone else in his bed – in someone else’s bed? – waking up somewhere other than where he went to sleep, but all he’s feeling is a strange sense of calm. A clarity, for all his confusion, and he hasn’t even opened his eyes. He hasn’t needed to, yet.

Yet.

He will soon.

First? He’s thinking. Remembering his grandmother’s stories, told to him and his brother when they were small. It was a long time ago now, and some of the details are fuzzy, but he remembers enough. Enough to guess – to do more than guess – to know, instinctively, what’s happening. To know that this happens in his family. That _this,_ here and now, is his Legacy, passed down on his mom’s side, from her mom to her to him. He’s been waiting for it; his whole family has since it became clear he didn’t have his dad’s skill at shaping small wooden carvings.

He’s been waiting for this one, singular day for years.

This one day, his entire Legacy. A day to learn everything about his life in the future.

His life with – his grandmother said – his Soulmate. His _Soulmate._

He still isn’t sure how he feels about that word. How he feels about the idea of there being some sort of predestination to his life. He’d be sceptical of the truth of it, he thinks, if he hadn’t seen his grandparents together. The way they’ve always looked at each other, the way they are together… It’s almost enough to make him believe.

The fact that he’s here, now, wherever here and now may be? Well. That’s another point to old stories. To Legacies and someday-maybe love.

Someday, maybe.

Nick takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. It’s light enough to see by, light enough to know he isn’t in the hotel he went to sleep in. That he isn’t in a hotel at all. And that in itself isn’t confirmation that this is his Legacy Day – isn’t confirmation of anything at all – but the photo on the nightstand– the photo on the nightstand is, well. It’s confirmation of a lot of things.

Nick’s stomach flips. He recognizes himself, albeit with a beard more neatly groomed than the playoff beard that's been steadily growing in, but it’s the other person in the photo, the other person smiling at Nick, holding Nick’s hand, that Nick can barely look away from. Because Nick knows him already. Knows who must be in bed behind him, his chest to Nick’s back, his arm around Nick’s waist.

Nick’s gaze drifts down, and his heart skips a beat, though he shouldn’t, maybe, be so surprised by what he can see, knowing his Legacy, seeing that photo, realizing where he’s woken up: in bed with Brandon Saad.

Brandon Saad. Nick hasn’t known him long – months, not even a year – but he’s not– he can’t say he hasn’t _noticed_ Brandon. That he hasn’t been noticing him since they met. And he’s noticing now, now that Brandon’s hand has slipped free of the sheets, that there’s a ring on his finger. His left hand ring finger.

Nick almost doesn’t need to check his own.

Married. Wherever, whenever he is, he’s _married._

He– doesn’t hate the thought. The knowledge that he’ll get there, someday, if he doesn’t screw it up–

His stomach flips as Brandon – it _has_ to be Brandon – shifts behind him, waking up, maybe. He’s nervous now, finally, the unnatural, unexpected sense of calm fading with the knowledge that he’s _here,_ that he’s going to get a firsthand look– that he’s going to experience firsthand what his future could be, starting… now.

“Morning,” Nick hears, words breathed in a familiar voice, softer even than Nick’s used to.

Nick swallows, takes a breath, and turns to face his future.

He’s face to face with Brandon now, and there’s a little thrill in him at that, at being this close, Brandon’s blue eyes half-lidded, not entirely awake. He blinks sleepily at Nick as Nick looks his fill. Brandon’s not a morning person, Nick knows that, at least. Knows that and knows that as much as he’d like to linger here, take in the moment and sort out his thoughts, he can’t. He can’t go on as if he’s Brandon’s Nick. As if today is any other day. It would be easier if he’d told Brandon–

He doesn’t know he hasn’t.

“Hey,” he says, and he has to pause when Brandon smiles, expression familiar for all it’s on an older face, for all his smile lines are almost hidden by his beard. For all that it’s warmer now, a little something more to it than the smiles Brandon usually sends his way. “Uh,” Nick says. “Do you– did I ever tell you about my Legacy?”

Brandon blinks at him, seemingly more awake, more aware. “Years ago,” he says. “You remember? A day or two after we won the Cup–?”

Nick chokes. Tomorrow– today? They’re going to– they’re going to _win?_

Brandon shoots him a curious look but doesn’t mention Nick’s reaction. “We were pretty drunk. I thought you were…” He pauses. “I thought you were just– I don’t know, just talking; you weren’t making much sense, but the next morning you explained it to me again…” He trails off, and his expression this time is assessing.

Nick waits, though he isn’t sure what Brandon thinks he’s going to see. He’s pretty sure his Legacy didn’t bring his younger body with him. He’s pretty sure Brandon would’ve already noticed if it had. But he must see _something_ in Nick’s expression, because he pulls back a little – not entirely away, not enough for his arm to slip from Nick’s waist – but enough to put a little distance between them, to rest his hand lightly on Nick’s hip.

“So today, huh?”

Nick swallows. “Yeah.”

“Right,” Brandon says. “Right.” He takes a breath, thumb circling lightly against the bone of Nick’s hip, back and forth, back and forth, over the fabric of Nick’s pants. “When are you…” He trails off, frowning a little. Nick gets it. It’s a pretty strange question to be asking.

“Apparently the morning of– I don’t know,” Nick says, and it’s almost hard to get the words out, almost feels like he’s tempting fate to say it, but. It happened. It’s _going_ to happen. “The day before? The day we win the Cup?” Time travel. It would be today for him, if he was waking up in his own time, but. Tomorrow. It’ll be tomorrow for him now. They’re going to _win the Cup–_

“We weren’t together then,” Brandon says, stiffening, stilling his hand. He bites his lip. Nick shakes his head, though Brandon hardly needs the confirmation. He’s sure Brandon knows exactly when they got together. “You’re, uh. Handling this well.”

“The ‘waking up in the future’ part? Or the ‘waking up married’ part?” Nick asks, dry.

“The ‘waking up next to me’ part,” Brandon says, and some of the new tension fades as he seems to realize Nick is– not calm about this, not entirely, but he’s not about to freak out about being here. About being here with Brandon.

“Not a hardship,” Nick says, and, well. It’s true. Brandon’s always been– there’s more than one reason Nick’s been noticing him, and he’s grown into his face in a way that doesn’t detract from his looks _at all,_ but. He didn’t mean to say that. He can feel himself blushing.

Brandon grins, opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then seems to think better of it. He tilts his head and Nick follows the movement to see a door. “Breakfast?”

“I could eat,” Nick says. It’s a rare time when that isn’t true for either of them.

Brandon nods. “I’ll cook.”

“You cook?” Nick asks. That’s new. Or, well. Maybe not new, but new to him. The Brandon he knows could barely boil water.

“I figured out a few things,” Brandon says with an easy shrug, and he pauses, still grinning at Nick, before he turns and rolls out of bed. He’s– mostly naked, and Nick can’t help but look, can’t help but take in the long stretches of winter-pale skin and well-defined muscles. The briefs he’s wearing may as well not be there.

Brandon _definitely_ grew into his frame

Nick swallows. Maybe he should feel guilty about looking, about seeing something that isn’t really his to see, but they’re married. Or they will be, or… something. Maybe that means he’s allowed to look? Brandon wouldn’t have done that so casually if he _didn’t_ want Nick to get an eyeful–

Brandon catches his gaze then, grinning, and Nick knows him well enough to see the amusement on his face, to realize Brandon probably got out of bed the way he did on purpose, inviting Nick’s attention. Nick can feel himself blushing. Again.

“Bathroom’s through there,” Brandon says, pointing at another door Nick hadn’t noticed. Brandon pulls on a pair of sweats and leaves through the first.

Nick sits up. The room isn’t dark, but the curtains are closed, the view beyond indistinct, the interior muted in a way that has Nick itching to turn on a light, just to look, to learn, but he finds himself padding into the bathroom when he gets out of bed.

He stops in front of the sink. The mirror. He’s curious.

He looks– older, but that’s no great surprise. He’s sometime in his future. Of course he looks older.

But understanding the rationale doesn’t make it any less strange to see the beginnings of lines at the corners of his eyes, subtle, natural as they appear, something he might have missed if he wasn’t looking for the little things, for the differences that make his face– not quite his.

The beard he was already aware of, but seeing it is something else, something different than the playoff beard he’s grown accustomed to these last few weeks, notably wild. His older self keeps his beard neatly trimmed, like in the picture.

He likes it.

It’s nice to have confirmation that it won’t look terrible later on, whenever he decides to grow it.

He looks for another long minute, then shakes his head and turns away. He notices as he does that there are two toothbrushes in the holder. He’s smiling to himself as he wanders back into the bedroom.

He lingers only long enough to grab a hoodie from the top of the dresser; he puts it on as he goes, clothing himself as he makes his way into the apartment proper. He’s eager to see the rest of what he thinks might be his home.

He finds himself in the living room, large and brightly lit; the walls are windows, uncovered, letting unfiltered sunlight through. He’s drawn to them, brushing his thumb against his wedding band, the metal smooth, warm against his skin as he weaves his way between couches and tables. Nicer furniture than he’s used to having. Dark woods and bright colours. His taste, but not entirely. Everything is just a little different than he’s used to, different than anywhere he’s ever been, and maybe he should have been braced for it, but it strikes him then, just how different things are. Strikes him that he’s in an unfamiliar apartment with an unfamiliar view. He doesn’t know where he is. He doesn’t even know _when._

He presses his palm to the window, listening to Brandon’s footsteps approach him from behind, listening as Brandon stops next to him. Nick takes a breath and turns away from his inspection of the skyline. A skyline he’s nearly certain isn’t in Chicago. “Where are we?”

Brandon hesitates, but Nick doesn’t relent. He needs to know. Needs to understand. “New York.”

Right. Right. There’s only one reason either of them would have an apartment here. “Who gets traded?” he asks, and Brandon hesitates again. Nick can’t blame him for that, even as it tells him– not everything, but enough. “Me then,” Nick says, and his voice is steadier than he expects. “When?”

“I’m not sure I should tell you that,” Brandon hedges.

That’s– fair. As much as Nick has the beginnings of an answer now, he isn’t really sure he wants to know _that._ It’s enough that he knows it’s going to happen now, eventually. Best that he doesn’t live counting down the days. That he enjoys all the time he has in Chicago, with Brandon–

“Where do you…?” Live. Play. Either. Both.

“Not in New York,” Brandon says, and his smile is crooked at that.

Nick bites his lip, fingers flexing against the glass, sunlight catching on his _wedding band._ He meets Brandon’s gaze again. “This– us. The distance. It’s worth it?”

Brandon’s answering smile is so warm, so happy that Nick’s breath catches in his throat. “Yeah, Nick. It’s worth it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Brandon says, confident. Sure. Still smiling.

Nick ducks his head. Well. That’s something. A big thing. It’s not that he doubted– that he thought his Legacy would bring him somewhere he was miserable, but. It’s clear he and Brandon don’t have a conventional relationship – apart for so much of the year, how could they? – and knowing how Brandon’s feels isn’t the same as knowing how _he_ does, in the future, but it’s hard to believe he feels differently. They’re married, after all.

“Breakfast?” Brandon asks again.

Nick nods, takes one last look out the window and walks with Brandon to the kitchen.

It isn’t far.

“Sit,” Brandon says, nudging him towards the stools at the counter, and part of Nick wants to protest, not quite comfortable leaving Brandon with all the work, but mostly he’s content with observing.

There’s plenty to see.

Brandon’s movements are easy as he makes his way around Nick’s kitchen; he doesn’t hesitate or struggle to find anything, and that in itself speaks to how often Brandon finds himself in Nick’s kitchen, he thinks. He wonders idly how much time they spend here during the offseason, but he can’t bring himself to ask.

He’s here to learn about them, about his future, but there are some things he thinks he’d rather experience for himself.

Either way, he thinks he likes it.

They eat in the living room. They usually do, according to Brandon. Nick isn’t surprised. They’re just as inclined to eat informally in Chicago, whether they’re at Brandon’s place or the apartment Nick shares with Shawzy.

Though Brandon’s usually inclined to leave a little more space between them than he does when they settle on the couch today.

He’s casual about it, like it’s something so commonplace it doesn’t require thought, like he doesn’t realize he’s even doing it, expecting to be welcome in Nick’s space.

Nick looks down when Brandon’s knee settles against his.

It– isn’t something Nick is used to, not like his future self must be, but he’s not–

 “Sorry,” Brandon says, expression sheepish when Nick looks up to meet his gaze. He starts to move away, stops when Nick shakes his head.

“It’s fine.” It’s– nice, if he’s honest. Another little glimpse into how easy they are– will– could be together.

Brandon blinks at him, and the sheepishness fades. “Cool,” he says, and rests his knee against Nick’s again.

Nick scoops up a forkful of eggs from the plate in his lap. They don’t _look_ weird or rubbery or burnt, the way they did the last time Brandon helped out with breakfast, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t. Brandon rolls his eyes. “Just try them, will you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nick says, and, well. He can’t put it off any longer, not really. He takes a bite, blinks, chews, swallows. “This _is_ good,” Nick says, and he doesn’t even try to hide his surprise.

Brandon elbows him lightly. “Told you I picked up a few things.”

“Yeah,” Nick says, teasing, “but how long did it take you?”

He and Shawzy have been trying to get cooking advice to stick with Brandon since they started waking up at each other’s places. It hasn’t been all that effective; turns out Brandon’s quick thinking on the ice doesn’t translate so well to the kitchen.

“Couple years,” Brandon admits. His cheeks are a little pink.

Nick bites back laughter. Brandon elbows him again. “Couple years,” Nick says, elbowing him back. “That makes it…?”

“First half of Twenty-twenty,” Brandon says, after a brief hesitation. “But I learned a while ago.” He drops Nick’s gaze, frowning faintly. “Don’t know if I should tell you more about any of this, either.”

Nick inclines his head. He knows enough now that he won’t be nervous every time they’re set to spend time together once he’s traded, but he doesn’t know enough to change things. It’s obvious Brandon wasn’t expecting him, and he likes that, he thinks. That this peek into his future hasn’t been arranged. That what he’s seeing is just Brandon. What his life is– could be, a handful of years down the road.

It’s too bad he won’t know when he can start to trust Brandon’s cooking, though.

Nick sets his plate aside when he’s finished eating. He can clean up later– maybe? He doesn’t actually know if Brandon and his future self had plans.

Brandon’s already watching him when Nick meets his gaze again, question on the tip of his tongue. He quirks an eyebrow at Nick. Nick can’t help but grin. “Is there, uh, anything we’re supposed to be doing today?”

He hope’s not. It’s not as if he could play today, not really; there’s too much he doesn’t know for that to ever be a good idea. He doesn’t think it’s going to be a problem, though. Brandon hasn’t mentioned needing to call anyone, hasn’t acted like he’s in a hurry to get anywhere. He’s been relaxed, rolling with the fact that it’s Nick’s Legacy Day.

“Nah,” Brandon says. “Just hanging out. Off day for you. Schedule quirk for me. Our game is tomorrow.”

Nick nods. He feels– he doesn’t know. Relieved? It’s nice to have confirmation that they’re both still playing, he guesses – it hadn’t crossed his mind until he asked that that might not be the case – but he feels– bad that he’s taken over a day of what has to be limited time he and Brandon get to spend together during the season.

“Sorry,” he says, and continues when Brandon blinks at him. “That I’m not– him.”

Brandon nudges him, shoulder to shoulder. “Don’t worry about that,” he says, and there’s amusement in his gaze again when he continues. “It’s not every day that I get to convince my husband that he wants to date me.”

His cheeks are a little pink when he finishes. Nick can’t help the little thrill he feels at the reminder that they’re married. That he loves– will love Brandon enough to want that. That Brandon will too.

“Convince away,” Nick says, and he hopes Brandon can tell how much he means it. (How little convincing he feels Brandon has to do.)

Nick’s picked up a lot already. He can tell they’re– tell he’s happy, in this future. With Brandon. And if that’s not the point of his Legacy, he doesn’t know what is.

He settles back against the back of the couch. “What’s good to watch in twenty-twenty?”

“Depends if you care about spoilers.”

Nick snorts. His entire Legacy is a spoiler. That being said, “Steer clear of Suits and we’ll be fine.”

Brandon reaches for the remote.

They spend a few hours watching a show Nick’s not even sure exists in his time, and Nick finds himself relaxing, slumping down the couch as the minutes pass. He doesn’t forget where he is, what’s happening, but hanging out with Brandon, watching TV with him like this isn’t new. It’s almost, oddly, normal.

Even when Brandon’s arm settles around his shoulders halfway through a later episode. Nick startles a bit, but this time when Nick meets Brandon’s gaze Brandon doesn’t apologize. He arches an eyebrow, eyes bright, and Nick takes him up on the offer, settling against him, tucking close, biting his lip as his stomach twists up, a little nervous, a little unsure. _This_ is new. At least, to him. Brandon seems utterly at ease

“Lunch soon?” he asks.

“Sounds good,” Nick says, and they settle in to watch the rest of the show.

Lunch is different again, in that Nick insists that Brandon isn’t going to do all the cooking, even if he has to go searching through his own drawers the way Brandon didn’t– doesn’t as he seems to anticipate what Nick’s looking for. Knives and spoons and other things.

“Guess you did learn how to make more than eggs,” Nick says, joking as Brandon hands him a plate.

Brandon rolls his eyes.

They move on to video games after lunch. Nick’s left blinking as Brandon hands him a controller, reminiscent of the ones he’s used to, but not at all the same.

“What’s this for?” he asks, and Brandon’s grin gets very wide.

“PlayStation,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Nick turns it over in his hands, trying to fight the feeling he’s going to be ruined for the technology of his time. Seven years, give or take. This is seven years more advanced than what he’s used to. It’s a long time. He nudges Brandon. “Need all the help you can get if you’re going to win, huh, Saader?”

Brandon flips him off, which is as good as a yes.

He’s– not wrong. Even as Nick’s adjusting to the controls and the controller, it’s obvious that racing games are one thing Brandon hasn’t improved at.

“You’re still terrible at this,” Nick marvels. Brandon’s hand-eye coordination is fantastic, he has great hands and _years_ of experience on Nick, and Nick’s still beating him every race. It doesn’t make _sense._

Brandon puts his controller down. “Maybe I spend my time practicing other things.”

There’s a quirk to his lips, particular, pointed. It– isn’t hard to guess what Brandon means.

Nick swallows, face warm, throat dry. “We still need to practice?”

He’s seen this version of Brandon all but naked. It’s hard to imagine. Needing practice, that is. Picturing the Brandon he woke up to is anything but hard. Difficult. Anything but _difficult._

“Need to? Don’t know about that. Want to, though?” Brandon shrugs, still grinning. “You’ll see.”

“Looking forward to it,” Nick says, easy. His Brandon– the Brandon from his time– not his, not in any way but friends, not yet, but it’s less confusing this way – his Brandon may not have the years of carefully built muscle, or the beard as neatly trimmed as the one his future self seems inclined to keep, but he’s still one of the hottest people Nick’s ever met, and Nick _wants._

“That mean I convinced you to give us a try?” Brandon asks, and Nick can recognize his Brandon in that look – his smile edging forced, nervous – and in the sound of his voice, not quite as casual as he was aiming for.

Nick reaches down, takes Brandon’s hand, and squeezes.

“Pretty sure I was willing to try before I ever woke up here,” Nick says. And that’s not– that’s not what he planned to say, not something he realized was true until he _did_ wake up here, until the idea was laid out before him, presented for him to think about. To realize who and what he wants. This Brandon. This future.

He wants this, this life he’s built for himself. The life he and Brandon have built together.

“Oh.”

Nick ducks his head.

Brandon squeezes his hand then starts to let go, and Nick fights the urge to hold on, to stop his retreat until he realizes Brandon’s only letting go to pull him into a hug, solid and warm everywhere he’s touching Nick, arms and chest and clutching hands, fingertips pressed to Nick’s back.

“I’m glad,” Brandon murmurs, his chin tucked over Nick’s shoulder.

Nick thinks that might be an understatement considering how tightly Brandon’s holding on, but he lets it go. He’s hardly in a position to throw stones.

“You should tell him," Nick says, eventually, when the moment, when Brandon's words and actions and tone have had a chance to sink in.

“What?”

“Me. But him,” Nick says. “That you were worried." He thinks– he thinks he'd like to know, if he were him. Future Nick. Which he guess he is. Will be?

Brandon sits back, pulling away from Nick, arms falling his sides. “Didn’t realize I was until you showed up,” he says. His voice is light, unaccusatory, but Nick still has to stifle a wince.

“Sorry,” he says.

Brandon waves him off. “Nothing to apologize for."

Nick inclines his head and slowly they sit back, moving to lean back against the couch. Brandon picks up his controller again. "Another round?"

"If you're that eager to lose," Nick says, words falling from his lips without a thought. Chirping Brandon comes naturally, brings with it a sense of familiarity that's equal parts comfort and oddity.

All familiar things have felt that way today, and that in itself is strange, a reminder of the surreality of his day, his situation, for all that it’s real, for all that it's happening.

They pass the time through to dinner that way, playing games and joking and poking fun at each other, and it's nice to see that in Brandon still, years down the road, for all it took time for his Brandon to come out of his shell, to show this side of himself to everyone. Nick's familiar with it enough now to welcome it. Is glad Brandon hasn't lost that, glad he and Brandon haven’t lost that. Is glad that this, maybe, could be part of his future, this easy laughter. Camaraderie. Joy.

They order in for dinner, and Nick's quietly amused to realize Brandon's favourites haven’t changed. Creatures of habit and routine, hockey players are. His favourites are still his favourites too. He had them last week. In Chicago.

That – thinking it was just last week, that it will have been just last week when he wakes up again – is enough to make his head spin.

“You want to get out of here for a bit?” Brandon asks, when dinner is done and their dishes are put away. “Go for a walk or something?”

“We do that?” Nick asks. “Go for walks?”

Brandon shrugs. “Sometimes. You wanna?”

Nick– does – they’ve spent a lot of time seated today, and this much inactivity isn’t something he’s used to – but still, he hesitates. He’s not sure how much of the future outside of these walls he should really be exposed to. It’s been little things so far, TV shows and pieces of technology. Who knows what he’ll see, what he’ll learn outside the safety of his apartment.

“Or we can stay in…” Brandon trails off, head tilted, eyeing Nick.

Nick bites his lip, then shakes his head, straightening his shoulders. “No, let’s go. You can show me around.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure,” Nick says. “Why not?” It’s– it’ll be fine. What is he going to see, really, for spending a little time outside? How much will he see that really matters?

Brandon grins. “Better get dressed then,” he says, and there’s something about his smile that has Nick glancing at him in suspicion, but he trails Brandon back into the bedroom all the same.

There’s a suitcase on the dresser, open but mostly packed, Nick notices now that he’s taking the time to look around. Brandon’s, he thinks, and is proved right when Brandon heads for it.

Nick looks away, leaving Brandon to change while he finds something he can wear; it’s a little odd to open someone else’s closet, even knowing it’s technically his, but he does, revealing the usual assortment of shirts and suits, and jerseys, down at the end.

He doesn’t recognize any of it – not such a surprise; it’s been years; he doubts much, if anything, from his time would fit his future self – but he can tell it’s all expensive.

“Mine or yours?” Nick asks, though he’s already pretty sure of the answer.

“Yours, mostly,” Brandon confirms.

And that’s, well. That’s– interesting? Intriguing? He seems to have picked something up when it comes to how he dresses since he was a rookie. And it’s kind of fun, seeing more of the evidence that he got paid somewhere along the line. That he played – is playing? – well enough to earn that kind of money. That’s– not unimportant.

He does a double take when he sees a strip of colour amongst the jerseys that isn’t unfamiliar, but definitely isn’t expected. A large patch of cream above a dark blue sleeve, down past what must be a familiar sight to future him: the Isles’ blue and orange. He reaches for the odd jersey, curious though he knows maybe he shouldn’t look, and pulls it out enough to see it isn’t his name on the back. It’s Brandon’s. ‘Saad’ in the lettering of a Blue Jackets’ third. Nick blinks. Blinks again. It’s not the presence of the jersey that’s surprising him – again, married – but the jersey itself. What it means. Not New York, Brandon said. He didn’t say not in Chicago either. “That’s not mine,” Nick says, and he waits for Brandon to reply.

It takes a moment, both for Brandon come over and to say anything when he does, stopping close enough that his arm is just brushing against Nick’s. “Oh. No,” he says, and pauses. His voice is softer when he continues. “I mean, sort of? I didn’t know you kept it.”

“It’s important then?” Nick asks.

“You could say that,” Brandon says. “It’s– it’s a reminder now, I guess, of when we were in the same division. We saw each other more for– then. More then,” Brandon finishes, cutting himself off.

“Not so much now?” Nick presses, aware he’s fishing, that he might not want to know the answer, that maybe he _shouldn’t_ know, but unable to help himself.

“Not– so much,” Brandon says.

“Sucks,” Nick replies.

“Yeah,” Brandon says. He nudges Nick lightly. “Still worth it.”

It’s not the first time he’s said that. Nick will just have to trust that it’s true. That his future self agrees.

He’s– pretty sure he does.

Brandon nudges him again, smiling faintly. “Gonna get ready now, Leds?”

Nick nudges him back. “Yeah, yeah. You too.”

It takes Nick longer, if only because he has to open most of the drawers in the closet and the dresser to find everything he needs. Not everything he finds is his, he doesn’t think, but the vast majority is.

It’s a _vast_ majority. He owns– a lot of clothing.

Huh.

He pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, trying not to look too closely at his skin. He doesn’t want to know if he can see marks from old injuries. He can’t afford to play it safe, to play as if he could be injured any time he steps onto the ice. He can’t afford to have that in his game – in his head – as curious as he is to see the changes time, and, he’s sure, hard work, have wrought. As curious as he is to see the reason he feels like he’s taking up just a little more space, like his balance is– different. Not quite what he’s used to, even on solid ground.

Brandon’s snickering at him by the time Nick meets him in the front hall. “Sure you took long enough?” he asks, pushing away from the wall.

Nick flips him off. “You’re not ready either.”

Brandon shrugs one shoulder and gestures Nick towards the hall closet. Nick eyes him, then the door, then the multitude of jackets that are revealed when he opens it. “Let me guess,” Nick says, voice dry. “Also mine?”

“Also yours,” Brandon says, and Nick can hear the smile in his voice. “New York suits you, Nick.”

“Does it?” Nick pulls one of the longer jackets carefully free from its hanger.

He looks up when Brandon’s hand settles lightly on his shoulder. “You fit here,” he says, no less earnest for the softness of his voice. “It took a little bit, I won’t lie, but I like to think I know when you’re happy, Nick. And you are here.”

Nick ducks his head, nodding. He guesses– he guesses if anyone would know, it would be Brandon – his husband – even if they don’t see each other as much as he’s sure they’d like.

Brandon squeezes his shoulder and steps away, giving Nick enough room to shrug the jacket on. There’s a mirror on the wall beside the door. Nick tugs at the lapels to get the jacket to sit a little straighter, then blinks at himself.

He looks– older. Not that that’s a surprise – he knew that already – but it’s more than that. More that this is a little of who he could grow into, maybe. Another tiny piece of the life he’s feeling more and more like he wants to have.

Brandon’s biting his lip when Nick finally looks away from the mirror. “Ready to go?”

There’s laughter in his voice. Laughter, and no small bit of what Nick can only call fondness. He can feel warmth blooming across his face. He elbows Brandon lightly. “Are _you?”_

Brandon hasn’t made a move to put his jacket on yet, and that’s flattering, Nick thinks, that Brandon was distracted enough by him not to have made any progress, but at this rate they’re never going to get out of here.

“Almost,” Brandon says, and he winks at Nick as he starts to put his coat on.

“Gloves?” Nick asks, shaking his head. He doesn’t know how cold it is, doesn’t know what season it is, even, but he’s assuming they’ll need them. Brandon hadn’t stopped him when he grabbed a warmer looking jacket. Brandon will tell him if he’s wrong.

“Basket on the top shelf,” Brandon says. “Grab the grey beanie, too. You always complain your ears are cold when you wear the black one.”

“Why do I keep it, then?” Nick asks, grabbing what he needs.

“Think it might’ve been a gift,” Brandon says, and he turns to Nick, pulling his own pair of gloves from one of his coat pockets. “Ready?”

“Pretty sure we’re waiting on you,” Nick says, and he laughs when Brandon huffs.

They take the elevator down to the lobby, then head out to the street.

“Where to?” Nick asks, as they stop on the sidewalk in front of the doors. There’s a chill in the air, cool enough he can see his breath. He’s glad to be bundled up.

Brandon shrugs. “Figured we’d just wander. See what there is to see tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Nick says, and he falls into step at Brandon’s side as Brandon heads off.

They aren’t the only ones out and about, but very few people pay them any attention, and Nick is distracted too, taking in as much of their surroundings as he can, tall buildings lit up against the dimming sunlight–

He startles when Brandon takes his hand, gloved fingers wrapping gently around his.

Brandon meets his gaze, curious and a little challenging, again. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Nick says, biting his lip, resisting the urge to duck his head. He hopes the pink he can feel on his cheeks will be blamed on the cold.

This is new for him – not– wanting it, not if he’s going to be entirely truthful with himself, but the acknowledgement of that fact is, and that in itself is enough to make something flutter in his stomach, good nervous for now, maybe _just_ nervous later, tomorrow, when he’s back in his own time – but it’s clearly not for Brandon. There’s an ease in the way he takes Nick’s hand, slipping their joined hands into his jacket pocket as they walk on.

The only way it could be better is if they were gloveless.

Nick does duck his head then, smiling down at his feet until he feels he has a little more control over his expression.

Brandon leads them on, city blocks passing both in a silence and in quiet conversation, and Nick appreciates both: joking with Brandon the way he’s used to and finding out they can be comfortable together in the quiet, spaces and times that neither feel the need to fill with words.

Nick loses track of where they are before long, unfamiliar streets doing nothing to help him, but he doesn’t mind; he trusts Brandon to get them back without getting them lost.

The longer they walk the less of his attention is kept by the buildings they pass, the more of it is captured by Brandon himself, by the easy set of his shoulders and the faint smile on his face, just visible through his beard. Nick trails his gaze up, over cold-flushed cheeks and sharp cheekbones to the blue of Brandon’s eyes, bright and clear and– looking back to him.

Brandon squeezes his hand, lips quirking up into a small grin, but he doesn’t say a word about Nick looking. “Ready to head back?”

“Sure,” Nick says. He’s starting to feel the chill.

It turns out they’re only a block or so away from their building. Nick quirks an eyebrow at Brandon as Brandon leads them to the door. “Had an idea how long we’d be out, huh?”

Brandon shrugs, still grinning, still holding Nick’s hand. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

Brandon offers him another shrug as the elevator door closes behind them. “Maybe I just know you, Ledpipe.”

That’s hardly deserving of a ‘maybe,’ Nick thinks. It’s clear that Brandon does.

“Hot chocolate?” Brandon asks, once they’ve made it back to the apartment and shed their outdoor clothes.

“You’re spoiling me,” Nick says, but he doesn’t protest as Brandon leads them both back into the kitchen and nudges him in the direction of the stools again.

So he has a bit of a sweet tooth. That’s not a secret to anyone that knows him. And he’s willing to indulge Brandon’s indulgence of that.

He’s sure Brandon was betting on that, too.

He finds himself worrying at his wedding band again, brushing his thumb over smooth metal as he watches Brandon set water to boil and root around in one of the cupboards for mugs. It too has absorbed a little of the outdoor chill, but it warms quickly against his skin.

Brandon’s gaze drops briefly to Nick’s left hand when he brings their drinks over, catching the small motion of Nick’s thumb, maybe. “Must be weird,” he says.

Nick accepts his mug, wrapping both hands carefully around it. “But not bad.”

Not a thing about his Legacy Day has been. Surprising? Definitely. But bad? Not at all.

Brandon smiles.

His own Legacy is kind of silly, Nick remembers him saying once, but Brandon didn’t volunteer more at the time, and Nick didn’t press. He must know by now, he thinks. His future self must know Brandon as well as Brandon seems to know him.

They move to the couch then, sipping their drinks as Brandon searches half-heartedly for something they can watch, but mostly they just talk, spending time together as they warm up, as the day winds down.

It feels like something they’ve done before, and the trick of it, he thinks, is that they have– they will. That it feels natural for Brandon to be doing this with him – future him – and it’s easy to relax in the face of such simple contentment. In a scene that borders on familiar for him too, for all there’s a different air to it, to the times he and his Brandon have hung out, killed time on off days and after practices.

Nick finishes the last of his drink and sets his mug aside, sitting back against the cushions of the couch.

It’s getting late enough that, if the routine of his future self is anything like his own, he should be thinking about heading to bed. They have a game tomorrow. As good as today has been – and it has been; he always tried not to get his hopes up about his Legacy Day, but even if he’d _had_ expectations, he never could have imagined this – they both need the rest.

He stifles a sigh.

He likes Brandon, likes spending time with him. That’s not new – he likes hanging out with _his_ Brandon plenty – but it– this feels different. Is different, in the way this Brandon looks at him. Smiles at him. In the way he leans against Nick, brushes against his shoulder or his arm, touching Nick more often, touches just _meaning_ more _._

It’s been good. _Very_ good. He’s sad to see it end, for all that the end of today will mean him going back to his own time. His own Brandon. To their beginning, maybe. He hopes.

“It’s getting late,” Brandon says, breaking the easy silence that’s settled between them.

Nick inclines his head. He knows. “We should…” He gestures towards the bedroom.

“Yeah.”

Brandon meets his gaze. It’s a long minute before either of them make any move to stand.

But they do, dropping their dishes off in the kitchen before making their way to the bedroom.

Brandon disappears into the connecting bath and Nick takes a moment, sitting down on the edge of the bed. His bed. Their bed? He doesn’t know, isn’t sure where they spend the bulk of their time in the offseason. Here or Pittsburgh or Minnesota or– wherever Brandon happens to be playing now. Part of him is curious, but he isn’t going to ask. Wherever it is, it works for them. Knowing that is enough.

There’s a phone on the night stand, on the side of the bed he woke up on, sleeker and shinier than any he’s ever seen. A small light is blinking at him, but Nick resists the urge to pick it up, to try to check his messages, to see what that light means. He isn’t sure he’d even know the passcode. He hopes it’s nothing urgent.

His gaze drifts to the photos then, a couple he hadn’t noticed before, framed and hanging on the wall, and the first he saw this morning, propped up on the nightstand.

This he picks up, wanting a closer look, drinking in the sight, the evidence of him and Brandon together, happy, holding hands and looking at each other with smiles so wide Nick almost doesn’t recognize the expression on his face. They’re in tuxes, he realizes, and he doesn’t know how he didn’t notice earlier. Wedding photo, his brain supplies. This and the ones on the wall; they’re wearing the same clothes in all of them.

Nick startles a little when Brandon sits down beside him, stripped down to boxers and a thin t-shirt. Nick didn’t hear him come back in.

“That’s your favourite wedding picture,” Brandon says. Nick– isn’t surprised. It’s a good photo, really does say more than a thousand words ever could. He wonders a bit if his love for it isn’t influenced a little by the fact that he’s holding it, seeing it now. By the fact that he’ll have two sets of memories associated with it: today’s and their wedding day’s. “That one’s mine.”

Brandon points and Nick follows the gesture to one of the pictures on the wall, taking in the two of them, suit jackets off and sleeves rolled up past their elbows, arms around each other, standing close; they were dancing when it was taken, he thinks. It’s– sweet. Nick can practically feel the contentment they were feeling in that moment, can see it written on their– his face, at least. Brandon’s turned away from the camera, but it isn’t hard to imagine his expression, not when Nick can see his own.

Nick smiles, looking away, looking back down to the photo in his lap. It’s there too, that warmth, that elation. Love.

It’s been here all day.

He looks up again, over to Brandon, taking a breath. “How did this– how did we get together?”

It’s been burning at him since he woke up here, warring with the knowledge that knowing might not be the best thing for him, but his curiosity is ultimately winning out; his desire to understand just a little more about them, about how they moved from friends in his time to what they are to each other here and now makes it worth asking, even if all Brandon says is that he doesn’t think Nick should know. At least, this way, he tried.

Brandon blinks at him, then, startling Nick again, he starts to laugh, shoulder shaking against Nick’s as the sound sweeps through the room. Nick waits for him to calm, lips twitching at Brandon’s mirth, though he isn’t in on the joke.

“I’m sorry,” Brandon says, finally. “It’s not that funny, not really. It’s just– that night.” He shakes his head. “We were all _so_ drunk and you were rambling about Legacies and your future and I had no idea what you were talking about, but you were so adamant about me needing to know _right then,_ and by the time you talked yourself out you were this- uh, really nice shade of pink, and you asked me if I got it, all drunk and earnest and _you,_ and I– didn’t really, but I nodded and you, uh. Planted one on me. Surprised the hell out of me, but. Yeah.”

Nick can feel that same pink creeping across his cheeks now. At least Brandon seems to be into it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Brandon says. He shrugs one shoulder, jostling Nick. “You explained it properly in the morning. This. Your Legacy. What you knew about us.”

Nick carefully sets the picture back down on the nightstand. He’s not _surprised_ he did that, but even knowing what he does, even after living through a day of their future relationship, proof that it all works out, he can’t imagine it was an easy conversation.

But he won’t be caught up keeping secrets, not like this, not one as big as this. It wouldn’t be fair. Brandon deserves to know where they stand, deserves to know as much as Nick does, right from the start. They’re going to be on a level playing field, even if– even if what Nick’s going to dump on him is _a lot_.

“That– didn’t freak you out?” Nick asks, unsure if _this_ is a question he wants an answer to. If he wants to hear that the early stages of their relationship were rocky and uncomfortable at best.

“It did a bit,” Brandon admits. “It was a lot to take in, you know? But I was pretty gone on you already, so.”

The latter half is said casually, like the knowledge of that, that _his_ Brandon wants Nick as much as– as much as Nick wants him is– “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Brandon says, and there’s a familiar hint of challenge in his expression again. Challenge and a spark of amusement and Brandon’s quiet, steady confidence beneath it all. “Trust me. I– he can handle it.”

Nick nods. They wouldn’t be here now if Brandon couldn’t.

A beat passes. Brandon bumps their shoulders together again. “You really didn’t know?”

“Didn’t have a clue,” Nick says. Maybe he should have, would have, if he’d looked, but he didn’t. He _noticed_ Brandon, sure, but he didn’t notice this.

“Huh.”

They sit for a minute, unmoving, then Brandon sighs softly and shifts back on the mattress. “Coming to bed?” he asks.

And Nick appreciates this, the most recent of Brandon’s attempts to demonstrate to Nick a little of how things are between them in the future, without making him uncomfortable now. There’s a thoughtfulness in everything he does– has done today. The least Nick can do is try to repay him in kind. “It’s not– that won’t be weird for you? That I’m not him?”

Brandon shakes his head. “Not unless it is for you.” He grins a little. “We’re married, you know. I’m pretty used to sleeping with you.”

Nick brushes his thumb over his wedding band again. _Married._ A day isn’t long enough to get used to that. He wonders if his future self is yet. Part of him hopes he’s not, that maybe a small part of him never does get used to it. That thinking it, knowing he’s married to Brandon always gives him a little thrill. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay,” and he turns and slips under the sheets.

Brandon lifts his arm, an invitation, and Nick eyes him, eyebrow raised, just enough light sneaking in through the windows for Nick to see him clearly. “Am I always the little spoon?”

Brandon snorts. “Only when you want to be.” He arches an eyebrow in return.

Nick laughs, shakes his head, and rolls over, inching back until his back is snug against Brandon’s chest. He does his best not to stiffen when Brandon’s arm settles around his waist, though it isn’t a sensation, a position he’s used to, not yet.

He has a feeling he will be soon.

“Good day?” Brandon asks, voice soft in the stillness.

“Good day,” Nick confirms, and then, softer, “Thanks.”

Brandon’s arm tightens briefly around his waist and the moment stretches, quiet. Comfortable. Nick thinks he feels the ghost of lips on the back of his neck.

“‘Night, Nick,” Brandon says, and his words are barely a whisper now. “Have fun tomorrow.”

Nick swallows, a flutter in his stomach at the reminder of something so important that– slipped his mind completely, one more revelation lost in the sea that made up his day. The Cup. The Finals. They’re going to _win._

“We will,” Nick says. He’s sure of that. Dreams coming true. Celebrating with the team, his best friends. With Brandon. Knowing what’s to come after they win it all. He’s excited, unsure how he’s ever going to fall asleep, how he’s ever going to get back to his time when all of this knowledge, these expectations are bouncing around in his head.

But he does, eventually, lulled by Brandon’s warmth and the slow, steady rhythm of his breath.

*****

Nick wakes up.

Nick wakes up to the blaring of his alarm, to sunlight warming the sheets of his hotel bed because they didn’t shut the blinds all the way, and he should be exhausted, he thinks, because it’s been a long series, but he’s not. He’s not. He’s ready.

He’s alone in his bed, and that shouldn’t be strange – isn’t strange, not really – but his memory of falling asleep in Brandon’s arms is fresh, and it takes him a moment to adjust.

He can hear Shawzy puttering around in the bathroom, getting ready for the day. They'll trade places soon, then go down and have breakfast, and Nick will have to keep everything he knows off his face when they meet up with the rest of the team.

With Brandon.

He’s alone, but he won’t be for long.


End file.
